“I am the age that my words represent.” I realized this nice phrase from José Luis Merino González, gallery proprietor, artwork critic, bullfighting chronicler, blogger and author, who died final Monday in Bilbao on the age of 94. And if phrases symbolize the age of an individual, José Luis by no means stopped being a child as a result of they got here out in a cascade, in spurts, however with grace, intelligence and basis.
The journalist and critic Joaquín Vidal, answerable for the Bulls within the Culture part of EL PAÍS from number one till his dying in 2002, was an unquestionable and staunch defender of the integrity of the bullfight and he selected very nicely the critics who needed to exchange him to inform what was taking place within the bullrings when he couldn’t attend as a result of he was masking one other bullfight. That’s why I met José Luis Merino one afternoon in August, the day of the primary bullfight of Bilbao’s Semana Grande, as a result of he dictated the chronicle to me over the telephone.
Merino was good, entertaining, extremely cultured and completely different. From that day on I tailored my books to their chronicles, with the ensuing anger in my household, who didn’t perceive my incipient and fanatical bullfighting vocation. But sure, with him I understood a bit of the artwork of bullfighting as a result of he defined to me every little thing he was dictating to me, just like the kung-fu grasp who teaches Little Grasshopper all of the actions.
Over time I realized—he by no means backed away from something—that he had run the Grises gallery in Bilbao, had written necessary artwork books—70 Basque artists o Oteiza speaksfor instance—and interviewed the most effective writers on this planet and Spanish literature, and but he was so humble that he insisted and inspired me to put in writing as a result of he appreciated the letters I despatched him.
He was even good within the title of the weblog he wrote for 3 years within the digital version of EL PAÍS: hearth thievesI do not know if as a tribute to the Greek titan, who stole hearth from the gods to offer it to humanity, or for the Guarani toad who helped steal an ember from the hearth of the Ucha lords, who didn’t need to share it.
What is evident to me is that he stole the hearts of all of us who knew him. Like Teresa, his spouse, Teresa, his daughter (the Teresas, he referred to as them), and his granddaughter, Venezia. No one can steal the heat of your friendship from us. Not even Prometheus.
https://elpais.com/cultura/2025-11-28/adios-a-jose-luis-merino-la-edad-de-las-palabras.html